


Concordance

by norcumi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, GFY, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Order 66, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, rescued from the tumblr purge, the author also has no idea where it's going or what ships will come, the author never meant for this to be a serious fic, usually written while exhausted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 13:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17305367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: Obi-Wan flees Mustafar for Mandalore, where Satine gives refuge to him, Padmé, and the twins. With the help of a growing collection of former Jedi, freed clones, and angry insurgents, Mandalore spearheads the rebellion against the Emperor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Concordance was a project started during bouts of insomnia where I just wanted a weird little angstfest-treated-seriously with ALL THE POLY SHIPS. I haven't done much with it lately in no small part due to having no idea where I want to take it, beyond one or two major beats, but I'm sure I'll figure out eventually. 
> 
> Many thanks to: Dogmatix and MoreCivilizedAge, who did some betawork throughout; Flamethrower, who prompted various ideas, and [Leechbrain](http://leechbrain.tumblr.com/), whose lovely art has been *ahem* _quite_ the inspiration. ^_^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 02/03/2016 on my tumblr, which got eaten in the purge. I'm now located at [Norcumii](https://norcumii.tumblr.com/), because the heck with that noise.

He leaves behind fire and death, going for the only place he can think of that might be safe. The last time Obi-Wan Kenobi saw Mandalore, he’d been leaving behind a crew of dead bounty hunters, a distraught Satine, and a grim, new head of Death Watch – a woman Satine claimed as her sister.

He arrives to a Mandalore that is also in flames. A star cruiser swings into the little shuttle’s view, hailing him. Since he can see the Mandalorian skull snarling around some rather large cannons pointing in his direction, he opens the channel.

“Unknown shuttle, identify yourself or be destroyed.”

His own men tried to kill him. He felt the murder of thousands of his brothers and sisters, their death cries still echoing in his mind. His closest friend, his most trusted brother, not only tried to kill him, to kill Padmé, but also his own child.

“What, no option to run away?”

He’s not sure how he keeps from snapping the words. He keeps it almost urbane, a faint snarl hiding underneath a drawl.

He’s a little surprised that there’s a fast response. “You’re in Mandalorian space now, unknown shuttle. Declare yourself or die.”

Kenobi’s patience breaks. =By what right?= This time he growls it, the Mando’a curling from him on instinct.

This time, there is a faint hesitation. =By order of the Duchess Satine Kryze. =

=I’m sure the Duchess is thrilled with that. Upon whose orders are you destroying random ships?=

The com crackles as another channel opens, the voice on the other end staticky from encryption.  =The Duchess is less than thrilled with everything right now, but those are my orders. Now are you going to identify yourself or not?=

He slumps into his seat, one shock too many. =Must I?= he asks, voice soft and wounded. Relieved.

He can hear the wry smile in Satine’s voice, encryption or no. =Are you who I think you are?=

=Never.=

=Then remain where you are. You will be boarded.= Satine closes the second channel, and Obi-Wan obeys the old subterfuge and brings the shuttle directly into the cruiser’s main bay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr on 02/03/2016.
> 
> "Somewhat heavy on the Mandalorian culture, sorry."

Padmé is taken to Medical immediately. Kenobi is taken to a small boardroom that has been converted into something he has to call a throne room. The throne, such as it is, is just a high-backed chair, not ornate or on a dais the way he is used to on Mandalore.

His brain literally does not know how to process Satine sitting on that throne, hair tied back in the casual bun she prefers, and wearing battered beskar’gam matching the blue and gray of the Mandalorian standing beside her.

Bo-Katan gives him that same wry little smirk she gave him when he left them to argue over rule of the Mando’ade.

So he looks back at Satine, who sits with one brow arced and a sad little smile on her face. “Obi.”

Normally, he would bow. Try for polite niceties.

He can’t recall ever being this _tired_ before. “That beskar’gam has seen battle.”

Bo-Katan snorts. “Seems she didn’t forget everything she learned when pacifism rotted her brain.”

“I can still have you shot for treason, you know.”

Bo-Katan ignores that with a baring of teeth in what could never be a smile. “I can still challenge you for leadership any time I want.”

“You haven’t the patience for the bureaucracy and I haven’t the skills to beat you. You win, you lose.”

“The hell is going on?”

The women turn back to him, and Satine has genuine sympathy in her expression. “The Republic is dead. Palpatine declared himself Emperor. The Jedi have been declared traitors – to what is unclear – and the war is over.”

Force, he wants to just fold down onto the floor, curl up in a corner like the days when they were on the run and any spare patch of surface not infested with insects or hostile plantlife was a comfortable bed.

“The Jedi are dead as well.” There is too little surprise from the women, and he has to wonder what they know, what the holonet is broadcasting. “I was at the Temple. They…killed everyone.”

“They?” Bo-Katan asks, sharp and narrow eyed.

The words stick in his throat, horror upon horror upon nightmare that seems like it will never end. “The army,” Kenobi finally manages, unable to damn the men he fought beside, for all that their betrayal howls through him. He cannot declare them just “clones” as if they were not full, real beings.

Satine nods, and he cannot determine if she knew already, or if this is confirmation. “They tried to do that to us.” Grief and anger flash across her face. “I’ll make no swift moves, nor will I surrender to the demands of tyrants – Separatist, Republic, or _Imperial_.” She spits the last word, making it a slur, then she gives Obi-Wan a look he does not recall ever seeing upon her face. In that moment, he wonders how he could have missed her kinship to Bo-Katan.

“They fired on civilians. The cruiser they’ve been keeping in system showed up to bomb _Mando’ade_ into submission.”

Bo-Katan flashes that feral smile again at Satine’s affronted, grieving tone. “Not the threat I was expecting, but I haven’t been wasting the time you bought us.”

Satine nods, the women in synch in a way that thrums in the Force, violence reined in yet ready to be unleashed. “Do you have any idea why Palpatine would do this? Or is he just power-mad?”

“Sith,” he declares, tired and still flinching from the word. “He’s a Sith lord.”

Bo-Katan stills, shock and disbelief on her face.

Satine, however, lifts her chin in a gesture Obi-Wan has often thought arrogant. Now, on her makeshift throne and in beskar’gam that has seen blasterfire, it has the hauteur of power behind it. “Well. Plan B, then.” She looks over at Bo-Katan, who is watching her warily. “You claim you follow our true heritage. Do you obey the Resol’nare?”

They might have only a hint of Force sensitivity, but Kenobi is sure that even they could feel the currents of power in the room, the challenge between the two women. History, and will, and goals all tangled up with blood in a way he knows he does not understand.

Bo-Katan is the one to break, though he can feel it is a decision, not a loss. She drops down onto one knee, fist coming up to her heart. “Manda’lor. Are you rallying your people?”

Satine’s eyes blaze, and Obi-Wan can feel the grief she hides so well. It is tucked carefully under resolve, and the fierce protectiveness he has always admired.

He can only wonder how many died in front of her, how many younglings bled out before her eyes, to bring her to this. He can think of nothing else that would sway Satine Kryze from her cherished pacifism, that desperate hunt for alternatives to the blood and death that took the lives of almost all she knew.

She believes this Empire to be worse than the destruction that scarred her teenage years so badly it left behind a woman rabid to see it never happen again.

Sith lord. It is worse.

“Yes. Palpatine seems to have forgotten that we once stood against both the Jedi _and_ the Sith. The people seemed to embrace Death Watch warmly enough as an alternative, when it was offered to them. Since the Jedi are dead, do you think they would be willing to see the Sith into hell as well?”

A chill flows down Obi-Wan’s spine, and he feels for a moment that he has fallen through time, back to the ancient wars that tore across the galaxy. In this moment, he can admit he loves Satine Kryze, for all that it was never in the way she desired. That fierceness, the determination, the Mandalorian ideal of a warrior with a purpose – it was only her hatred of actual violence that set her so far apart from her ancestors.

For a moment, he grieves along with her, for the fact that she is embracing the horror that led to her rule. The last dozen years and change of her life are now moot, and she has returned to what she tried to flee, after that strange year hiding all across the planet.

Then Bo-Katan grins, fierce and bloodthirsty and _proud_ , almost terrifyingly proud of her sister.

The Manda’lor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 02/03/2016.
> 
> "Bit of a downer segment, wherein I apparently cannot keep my inner shipper’s greasy paws off of the expected."

Bo-Katan bows and stalks out of the room, giving Obi-Wan what he hopes is a friendly nudge of the shoulder as she goes past. With her gone, the intensity in the room ratchets down a few notches, leaving him feeling as if there’s a few less emotional sticks propping him up.

Satine can probably tell, given how she stands and comes over to put a hand on his other shoulder. “You need rest, Obi. Lots of it. So. Quickly, in broad strokes. Do we have any allies?”

Force. He makes himself focus, thinking through the fog in his mind, and he finally waggles a hand. “With Padmé here? She has loyal supporters. If she is willing to be open – ” _And if she survives_ , his mind whispers – “then we have the Naboo system, and maybe the support of Rodia. Get ahold of Ahsoka Tano.” Gods, he has never been glad for a moment that she left the Order until now. It is a staggering wash of relief that she was safe from this slaughter. “She’s not a Jedi any longer, which might not protect her in the long run, but you saw what kind of a Commander she could be. Be subtle. Take in any Jedi who might have survived.” He’s probably telling her things she already knows, but fuck it. There are many things he cares about, and the weight of them crush the possibility that this might be one. Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the tug and flow of the Force. “I believe Yoda is on his way here. He’s powerful enough he should be able to find me. He might have help, or advice.”

He makes himself open his eyes, facing the gnawing suspicion that has now had days to linger, settle in with a dangerous combination of hope and paranoia in equal measure. “Before – this. All of this. I would have said the 212th and the 501st without hesitation.” He ignores her sympathetic look through inhuman effort. “I don’t know why they turned on us. I cannot imagine why that happened.”

 _But_. _But but but_. The word, the _denial_ screams through his mind.

“The 501st marched on the Temple.” She winces, eyes closing for a moment, knowing what the means to him. “But not Torrent.” Those words are a weak whisper, because he hopes. He hopes, so very badly, even though he knows that there is no hope left in the galaxy.

“Are you sure?”

“I know them, Satine. I know their armor, and as skilled as they are, they would not have all made it through that battle alive.” Not Rex. Rex would die before letting his men slaughter children where they stood, he _knows_ that. “All the bodies were left where they fell. I – I didn’t look everywhere, I couldn’t do that, but – ”

“Torrent is the elite. They would have been near the front.”

“Yes.” Rex’s body would have been one of the ones on the front stairs, and it was _Rex_. He would not have been alone.

Obi-Wan has to believe that, because there are only so many underpinnings to his reality that he can stand to have removed in one week. Cody, Anakin, the Order, the _Republic_ – he can take only so much. He makes a conscious decision to believe that Torrent was considered too compromised to follow Anakin’s betrayal. Loyal to a fault, yes.

But independent. Too likely to question improbable commands.

Moreover, while it makes his head and heart hurt to consider it, if a battle came down to Torrent against the rest of the 501st, he would put his money on Torrent.

“There…are any number of possible reasons for their absence. Yet several of those reasons are in our favor.”

Bless her, she understands. Satine nods. “I’ll make sure clones are given the option to surrender, and are kept under close watch.” She hesitates, and Kenobi can feel her turmoil. “Is there anyone else?”

Cody. Ghost Company. Any of the 212th. He knows she asks for his sake, not just to make certain her suspicions are correct.

Cody was the _only_ one who could have ordered the cannons to fire upon Obi-Wan.

“No.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on 02/03/2016.
> 
> "Things keep swinging down before they come back up, please consider yourself warned. Bit of an experiment with how to deal with time passing, and not sure how it came out."

Two weeks pass, full of miracles and nightmares. Yoda arrives with an ashen Bail Organa. Organa, as it turns out, is already part of a conspiracy to rebel against Palaptine, and he brings with him names of allies and locations of resources.

Yoda is in just as much psychic shock as Obi-Wan, neither of them particularly capable of extended coherent thought or much activity beyond short walks. They both went and fought duels, Force intensive duels with Dark-siders in this state. Bad idea, and it leaves the medical types very unhappy.

Padmé survives more birthing complications than anyone wants to describe to Obi-Wan, which makes him wonder just how close a call it had been. Yet being allowed into Padmé’s room, and to hold Luke and Leia –

He starts to want to hope again. His smiles are more genuine, and less hollow than they have been in a very long time, and he’s pretty sure that Padmé can tell.

Satine is also a regular visitor to Padmé, and it hurts but almost in a good way when he sees them together. Two women who have lost so much, had to sacrifice so much. They have always respected each other in the Senate, and now they have an opportunity to explore their friendship.

Obi-Wan can feel how Padmé is a bedrock for Satine, a reminder in the form of a Queen who fought to defend her home as a teenager, yet still seeks peace. Satine seems to be a beacon in return, when Padmé needs all the Light she can cling to.

Both she and Obi-Wan _know_ the first time they see Darth Vader in the holonet broadcast. They say nothing, but he can feel her knowledge, and he is certain that her own Force sensitivity is informing her of his.

His insomniatic roaming of the halls that night leads him past Padmé’s room. He can hear her crying, and when he turns to go try to talk to her, Obi-Wan stops upon seeing Satine is already there, holding Padmé close and whispering to her.

He leaves, quick and quiet enough that he believes himself unnoticed, and if the next day the two stand a little closer than before, he cannot honestly say.

Nor would he judge.

There is the persistent sensation of loss in his life, and it is not just the lack of other Jedi in the Force. He has gotten accustomed to being surrounded by the army, and he knows the mental feel of the 212 very well by now.

Kenobi is surrounded by strangers. The Force echoes with death and Darkness and something else he is still too mentally wounded to understand. His time as General Kenobi, going over logistics with Bo-Katan and then also Padmé help, in that they give him something to hold on to, but he has gotten so very tired of death.

The next week, he is a little prepared by Bo-Katan informing him that her new Lieutenants will be joining their strategy sessions. The Empire keeps chewing away at the systems that have declared their independence, but Mandalore is not resource rich like Ryloth, or Christoph.

They are also determined to fight back, and they have at least some of the means.

Obi-Wan is not, however, prepared for the two bounty hunters to stalk inside. He knows that Bo-Katan is tightening the ranks of her True Mandalorians – once the Death Watch – and supplementing with hired help.

For all that, he does not expect to see Ahsoka Tano and Asajj Ventress entering a room with the protective lean towards each other that Anakin and Padmé have always had.

Ventress stops cold, one brow going up as she crosses her arms. “Well. This job just got lower class.”

Obi-Wan is too busy being hugged by a relieved Ahsoka to even bother trying to come up with a quip.

It is almost another month before Obi-Wan starts to feel like he can breathe again. The psychic shock has worn off, though the Force still feels polluted beyond belief. He still occasionally feels the tremble of imbalance as another Jedi slips into the Force, and he skims the newsfeeds relentlessly until he can pinpoint who was lost.

Yoda has ventured forth in a tiny craft only big enough for two by virtue of Yoda being small. The old master claims he is in search of other survivors. Obi-Wan can’t decide if that is true, or if Yoda seeks absolution by blaster or Vader’s horrible red lightsaber.

There are many days he contemplates his own set of lightsabers – his, and Anakin’s – so he is hardly one to throw stones. It is the twins that keep him from dwelling on those possibilities too much. Padmé needs all the help she can get, since she and Satine are at the helm of the fledgling Rebellion.

They are sharing care of the twins. Rooms. He is fairly certain a bed.

Ahsoka and Asajj make no secret they’re doing the same, and Bo-Katan spends her time flitting between another one of the bounty hunters and flirting with them. Smart money around the Mandalore resistance base has all four of them together by the end of the year, which is not too far away.

Obi-Wan is a little frustrated that he feels a distant, almost numb joy for them. They’ve gone from trying to survive a war to something much harsher, and everyone seems to be trying to make the most of the circumstances.

They try to include him in whatever they can, these mad friends of his. Family, on the rare occasions he can admit it to himself. Yet Kenobi is adrift in the crowded halls.

Not Jedi, any longer. Not Mando’ade, for all that he has had honorary citizenship with the planet since his youth. Certainly not one of the bounty hunters, who swagger about in between trying to train the still fiercely independent Mandalorians how to play well with others.

They start sending out trained cells to build up the Rebellion, shuttling brave souls and many beskar’gam clad warriors across the galaxy. Most of them travel through Alderaan, or via Naboo – a still grieving system that saw what they thought was their brave Senator and once Queen to a pyre.

No one is quite sure why the subterfuge from the Empire, but Kenobi still suspects it involves Vader.

That monster is a force of nature, the terrifying avalanche that swoops down upon cells and obliterates them. He is often seen on the holonet, taking down Jedi.

Padawans, many of them.

Yoda starts sending other Jedi survivors to Mandalore. A padawan here, a still shell-shocked knight there, a severely injured master, sometimes.

None can figure out why the clones turned, though there are hints that bother Obi-Wan.

“Good soldiers follow orders.” Almost a ritual chant, that all the few survivors heard.

He has heard that, but he cannot remember where.

Too much happened too quickly through the war, and he bitterly suspects that was contrived as well.

Answers start to build six months into the reign of the Empire.

He feels it, when the first clones break free. It is a new scream in the Force, a quiet echo of the pained fury he felt when the Jedi were slaughtered. The feel of it drives him to his knees, and Obi-Wan finally grasps that there were more than thousands of deaths howling into the Force that day.

There were millions of violations of the mind. No one on Mandalore knows the why, or the how, but it is clear that something is happening, and it is a perfect moment to take matters to the Empire.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 02/04/2016.

As one of the tiny handful of trained Master Jedi, Obi-Wan isn’t going on any of the preliminary raids. It is meant as an actual bold strike, rather than the feints from the shadows that they have been doing. Across several planets, at approximately the same time, while on Mandalore they will be preparing their defenses because there are only so many instances of rebels – with their brand new insignias of defiance and a coherent training – clad in Mandalorian armor that one can ignore.

They are officially declaring war.

Ahsoka is kind enough to stop by and see him before leaving. She is striking, in her new beskar’gam of burgundy and black, while Asajj is an awkward – and strangely supportive – presence in dark greens and purple at the door. Their hugs – Asajj’s prompted by a look from Ahsoka and leading to bewilderment for both participants – help, odd as that seems.

The halls feel empty. Padmé and Satine are supervising the attacks, Satine from the flagship _Ara’nov_ and Padmé from the ground command center. Bo-Katan, Asajj, and Ahsoka are leading several of the strike teams.

It has been a long time since he has had nothing to do during battles.

So he spends time with the padawans, and the younglings – Mandalorians who think a lightsaber is fascinating, and they want to learn how to fight with, or against one. Caleb – or Kanan, depending on if it is a day where he wants to embrace his Jedi past or run from it – continues to provide both problems and intriguing approaches. The boy is angry, and hurt, and he channels that into his lightsaber fighting.

The boy refuses to talk about what happened on the night of 66, but the details are unnecessary. Kanan’s scars show most in how much he tries to hide from being a Jedi, in both appearance and name.

Obi-Wan doesn’t blame him. Kenobi has spent time talking to Ahsoka. Meditating on her answers, what she has seen of the outside world. He has spent long hours talking with Padmé, the two of them holding the twins. He can feel how Light it is between them then, these younglings that are considered at best a severe breach in protocol of the Order’s rules.

There are days when Obi-Wan can even acknowledge to himself that the Order was full of shit.

Even on the days he can’t, Obi-Wan is working to improve things. He starts with Kanan, working to teach him how to move past the anger he can’t let go. The anger remains, but it does not Darken Kanan’s actions.

Obi-Wan knows the other Jedi – the former Jedi – are looking at him askance for that, but he does not care. For the first time, he is glad of his position, that damned Council seat he was badgered into.

These are new times. The Jedi need to be forged anew.

Not Dark, but not…limited.

Anakin had almost listened to reason. If Obi-Wan had been less muddled, less devastated by death and torture across the galaxy, he might have let Padmé handle matters. They both acknowledge she probably would have done a better job.

That relationship was the candle holding back the Darkness, until Obi-Wan unwittingly drew Anakin’s ire.

Obi-Wan’s nights are filled with If Only’s. If only he’d waited. If only he’d trusted Padmé. If only he’d dared believe that the 212 _would not_ try to kill him of their own free will. If only he and Yoda had gone to confront Palpatine together.

When the If Only’s get too loud, Satine has been kind enough to supply some fine Mandalorian wine.

Only one bottle at a time, because she is also no fool.

The news comes back swiftly. Kenobi had remained intentionally ignorant of the details, though he’d spent hours talking through tactics with various beings.

Kamino is now in Mandalorian hands. There were massive casualties, and it is not a clear victory – they have taken Kamino, but now they need to hold it.

Ryloth is an even more mixed bag. They destroyed a number of Imperial facilities, but a number of strike teams did not return. On the plus side, they can work to destabilize things with the local insurgents. On the down side, a chunk of their forces are caught on planet.

The other attacks were successful at causing destruction and havoc, but there were no clear victories.

To his relief, Satine reports no casualties in the command staff.

The If Only’s eat at his mind even as he can feel his dear ones returning to the planet. Ahsoka’s calm mental shields, matched with Asajj’s poised serenity. Bo-Katan’s elation and sex-sated smugness. Corkie’s eager fierceness.

It’s late enough that it’s early when Obi-Wan can feel someone approaching his quarters. Their mental shields are good, as good as any of the ones he’s taught to the command staff that don’t already know the process.

The Force whispers strangely to him as whoever it is knocks on his door. Kenobi doesn’t bother calling out. He opens the door, lightsaber held loosely enough that it would be decent odds he’d not be able to defend himself if whoever it is should be hostile.

He is all right with that possibility.

The person – male, probably – standing at his door wears the shiny new beskar’gam in Kryze blue and gray that they’re producing by the loads and giving to those deemed loyal enough to not screw them over. The body language is nervous, uncertain. They stare at each other for a bit, the man’s visor reflecting a haggard, too-thin ex-Jedi.

Then he removes his helmet, and Obi-Wan’s legs want to give out. “Rex.”

The clone looks like he’s been through seven kinds of hell. Eyes sunken from grief and far too little sleep. Scrapes and bruises and a nasty scar on his temple that’s brutal, and all too clearly not seen a drop of bacta. It’s healed, but badly.

“Sir.” Rex sounds nervous, which is a first. Obi-Wan can hear the quiet request, and he steps back, fumbling his lightsaber down onto the small table near the door. Rex notices, and there is a bit of a wince at the move.

The worst part is that Satine was responsible for furnishing the room, and she insisted on “something civilized” – meaning there’s a couch and some attractive but hideously uncomfortable chairs. So Obi-Wan is left gesturing Rex to the other end of the couch while he slumps back down to where he was.

As he sees Rex’s eyes flicker over to the mostly empty bottle, Obi-Wan is a little surprised that he can’t take much of the evaluating glance that ends up on him. So he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind that is reasonably civil and not…trouble. “What the hell happened to you?”

Rex’s tiny smile is wry and bitter. “Luck. Good and bad.” He slumps back, slouching in a way quite unlike him. Rex’s head lolls back, and for a moment he’s just sitting there, looking exhausted. After a moment, he takes in a deep breath, seeming to pull himself back upright with it. “Fives. When he – when that mess went down, Kix was the last one to see him. Fives said some things to him, and what he said to me before – ” Rex’s voice cuts off, and Obi-Wan has to wonder yet again what had gone on between the two. He was never ignorant of the fact that there were frequent relations between the troops, but that uncertainty about Rex was yet another reason he – kept his thoughts to himself. “Before. Kix asked me if he could investigate.” Anger flashes across Rex’s face, sliding into grief. “They didn’t want to have an autopsy. Said they knew what killed him; he’d been shot.” Muscles clench along the jaw. “So I sent Kix and four squads to Kamino, since last time just one ARC wasn’t enough. One of those squads didn’t make it back, but the rest got far enough from Kamino to get word to me.”

Rex’s eyes close again, for another deep bracing breath. “He’d been poisoned. He was dying when he was talking to me, even before he was shot. Dying when he was talking to Kix.” Rex’s eyes flicker up and hold Kenobi’s. “Kix thinks he was dying even before Palpatine accused Fives of attacking him.”

Oh gods. Dear Force, they had almost had the answer then. Obi-Wan almost can’t get the words out. “What did he know?”

“That was one of the good bits of luck. Kix’s strike team found the med droid Fives…made friends with. They got to it before – ” Obi-Wan doesn’t know what the emotion is that flashes across Rex’s face, even as the captain clumsily alters the train of thought. “Clanker found a bio chip, that was supposedly to keep us from being aggressive. Between Kix and the droid – ”

Obi-Wan stares at the scar on Rex’s temple. “Not aggression. Free will.” Rex’s nod is slow, solemn. “Gods.”

“Meat clankers,” Rex snarls, and his face has that unidentified emotion again.

“So why did all of Torrent disappear?”

“We didn’t. I needed intel. Wanted overwhelming force. Took the entire company because the Kaminoans were swearing all kinds of _shit_. By the time we knew about the Battle of Coruscant, we were already on Kamino, trying to get answers.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw drops. “You’ve been there _the whole time?_ ”

A flicker of a bitter smile crosses Rex’s face. “Took over one of the facilities. They thought we were being good little meat clankers right up until we blew the hell out of the local Reconditioning area and claimed the rest of the facility. All they’ve had nearby on planet were speedies and mercs. The real troops were too busy keeping the centers of civilization safe, thanks to your people.”

“They’re not mine,” Obi-Wan protests automatically, mind scrambling to keep up. Six months, Rex and Torrent were stuck on Kamino, surviving – somehow. He latches on to anything he can find, because this is the sort of thing that he’s found he deals with best if he keeps moving, never lingering too long on the horror. “Reconditioning?”

Kenobi can immediately see he asked the wrong thing. Rex goes still, then meets his eyes. Rex’s expression is professionally blank, dangerously neutral. “One of the things I always liked about General Skywalker is that he never wiped his droids.”

Obi-Wan stares for a moment, blank and uncomprehending. The statement is a non-sequitur, unless –

His hand is over his mouth, almost clenching at his beard, because –

Meat clankers. Memory wipes. Inhibitor chips.

He curls forward over his knees, struggling to breathe because even with only alcohol in his stomach he wants to heave up everything he’s eaten for days, if not years. Bad enough, that horrible day he’d realized the clones were essentially slaves, their token overseers the Jedi and all serving the Senate.

This, however. A war fought with droids, some of metal some of meat, all for the amusement of a Sith lord. An army of men treated no better than robots, because what a lovely dish of pain and suffering that must have been, while the Jedi blindly killed themselves fighting in battles that _never needed to happen_.

“ _Gods_. Why the fuck didn’t you just kill us in our sleep and escape to live your lives?”

An arm clad in beskar’gam settles over his shoulders, tentative and careful. “We believed in the Republic. Still do, most of us, I think.” Rex’s arm snugs around him a little more comfortably, and despite knowing it’s wrong Obi-Wan leans into the hold.

He is a very poor Jedi. He remembers himself most of the time, but he has always craved the touch of others.

Obi-Wan has more trouble remembering around certain beings than others, and Rex is foremost of them.

They stay that way for awhile, Obi-Wan fighting down shivers of revulsion, until he freezes because Rex has cautiously started to card his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair. Once again, he latches on to what he thinks he can understand. “Are you all right?” he asks, voice muffled by his knees.

Rex’s hand stills for a moment, then resumes. “Minimal losses. All to holding the base. Kept our new pet clanker going, and he’s Kix’s new best friend. Jesse would be jealous, but he likes the little guy too much.” He must be able to feel the tenseness in Obi-Wan’s shoulders, because the strained attempts of levity drop from his tone. “ _No one_ was Reconditioned. I wasn’t about to let that happen. And first thing we did once the place was secure was have Kix and AZ figure out this chip business, and they got them removed. _All_ of them. They’re speculating that the chips don’t have a long lifespan after going into use, so –”

“It’s happening already. I – heard them. When – ”

He can’t bring himself to say it, and Rex makes an understanding noise, moving closer. “We stayed dark as we could. Kept to ourselves, managed to eke out all the rations even when they cut the power. Had enough emergency reserves until some of the men got generators working, and then we kept an ear on the coms. When we heard your folks attacking, we sent out a hail.” Rex’s chuckle is rusty with disuse. “Never thought I’d be glad to see Ventress leading troops on to Kamino again.”

She would, too. Probably insisted on it, since she’d done a decent job of it last time. Satine would approve of the irony, and Padmé liked efficiency.

It’s overwhelming all of a sudden, too much of the past and present colliding and there’s too much empty space in Obi-Wan’s mind and the Force around him. It’s not even really conscious thought that has him lunging out of his huddle to cling to Rex’s armor. The shape is off from the Phase IIs he would expect, the pauldron and battered chestplate, and it doesn’t matter. Another one of his friends has managed to escape the Darkness, emerging battered but not broken and leading out even more.

It’s his own damn fault. He’s spent too much time lately reconciling himself with the comfort of friends, the closeness of family that doesn’t mind a little physical contact.

And this is Rex. Brilliant, devious, _loyal_ Rex who followed his Generals to hell and back, then thank the Force when they had been on the last hell of Mustafar, Rex had been busy working the bigger picture for all the clones. Not safe – this is not the kind of man to hide in safety when he can assist others – but not a part of that emotional twisted mess.

Obi-Wan doesn’t mean to kiss him. It just happens, and then Obi-Wan is hoping it can keep happening, because while this is hardly the first time for him, it is the first time he has been free of his own chains.

Both of them are here by choice. Neither of them are servants of the Republic, or the Jedi, anymore.

It’s nice, having something be simple for once.

Then Rex starts to kiss back, clinging and just as desperate for the contact and reassurance, and it feels simpler still.

When they finally move apart, it’s not very far. Rex keeps staring at him, wide eyed and clinging like Obi-Wan might up and disappear if he lets go or looks away. He remains a little wild in expression, but he smiles at Obi-Wan.

He’s seen this man grin, or smirk, but never an open, gentle smile. It looks good on him. It smooths back into the normal smirk Rex has, though perhaps a bit softer than usual. “So. I seem to be short a General, and you seem to be short a company and a Commander. Care to team up until we drag Cody’s ass in from the wild and clean his head up?”

Oh gods, Cody would be a wreck when the chip broke. Obi-Wan curls up with Rex, resting his forehead against the coolness of a shoulder plate. “Must it be all business?”

Rex is a little tentative in wrapping around him, pulling him close. “Certainly hope not.”

Obi-Wan slumps fully against him, surprised at how well they fit together as Rex leans back against the couch’s arm. It takes a bit to find a position somewhat comfortable, given Rex’s armor and Obi-Wan’s combination of exhaustion and touch of inebriation still lingering after all the shocks.

“Wonderful.” He can’t recall the last time he wasn’t at least somewhat sarcastic about something like that, but he can feel Rex’s grin as the man nuzzles Obi-Wan’s hair. He feels somewhere between reckless and bold, reaching up to run a light hand along Rex’s skull. The close-shorn hair is longer and messier than normal, which isn’t a bad look for him.

The noise Rex makes is halfway between agreement and a pleased groan, and they finally relax into each others’ hold.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 02/05/2016.

It’s not the first time Rex has woken up wondering if he’s dead. So far the answer’s been no, but he has more reason than usual to wonder.

He’s clean, _really_ clean and not just the ‘five minutes in the sonics on the rare fucking occasions they think they can spare the time and power’ pretext of clean enough for battle conditions. He’s gotten solid rest that’s more than the token cat naps that pass for sleep when they need to fight for survival, and the bed is impossibly more comfortable than the old horizontal tubes they grew up with and he finds damn claustrophobic now. Nice sheets, too, and quiet conditions that don’t have the eery background hum of working electronics.

Oh yeah, and instead of being curled up with a brother or seven for any sort of contact and reminder that there’s someone else still alive, he’s got _General_ _Kenobi_ in his arms.

Dead or a dream, because that can’t be real.

Except Dream Kenobi wouldn’t look like several kilometers of Coruscant pavement, hair and beard a mess that’s just barely hiding a gauntness that comes from someone holding on by their fingernails. The warm body in his arms is too thin, though he hides it well. There’s still muscle enough that the Jedi’s able to cling to him tight enough that if Rex needs to hit the ‘fresher things could get tricky.

And the real Kenobi wouldn’t have kissed him. Wouldn’t have asked if Rex had been assigned quarters with that quiet, almost hidden look of desperation that meant he’d never ask Rex to stay, no matter how much he might want.

The fact that Rex really hadn’t made it as far as the quartermaster in charge of bunk assignments had made it a lot easier.

So here he is, in a room with fucking _windows_ and actual Force gods damned natural _light_ coming in, and he’s curled up about the Jedi he’s always most wanted to get close to.

It’s more than enough to make a man want to run.

That’s also the exact gods damned reason he doesn’t.

The incredulous look he gets when Kenobi wakes up and sees him, sees that _he_ isn’t a dream either is more than worth it.

They slot into place with each other with an ease which worries Rex a little. Combining ‘commanding officer’ with ‘bunk buddy’ can be risky, even without bringing sex into things. The fact that he can tell from the way Kenobi looks at him that they both want more is equally reckless. Yet as the days pass, Rex relaxes more and more into the whatever it is that they’re building. The Empire is held off from Kamino, more progress is made on Ryloth, and more and more teams are sent out. Those teams start sending more and more clones back, some of them shattered men who might never get over having to betray their Jedi. Some of them are grimly determined to go back in, to pull out brothers by force if they must, and ready to do any damage to the fucking _Imps_ they had to serve.

Ordinary people are starting to flock to Mandalore, too. Pilots and smugglers, who hate the increasing dictatorship. Ex-slaves who know they might be made slaves again, since the Empire doesn’t forbid slavery the way the Republic at least paid lip-service to. Men and women and others from all sorts of planets, looking to take up the Mandalorian skull in defiance of the ranks and ranks of stormtroopers arrayed against them.

* * *

Amidala has always been his favorite senator. Some of that is the thing she and Skywalker had going on, which Rex wouldn’t even pretend he could ever understand. Marriage, apparently. _Kids_ , now, which the instant the news gets out to Torrent Luke and Leia are the new mascots, with AZ gratefully sliding into role of secondary medic. Even with his new 501 blue trim, and a bit of Aurebesh circling the round bits of his head chassis (“A better droid?” If it’s not Kix who’s responsible, he’s going to have to find out who’s poking the medic), AZ still expects to be sent off, at best to a corner and at worst to get a memory wipe.

Might be a clanker, but he’s _theirs_ now.

The other reason he likes Amidala is because she knows her way around a fight. She’s better than some brothers when it comes to blasters, and for her weight class she is damned good at hand to hand.

She’s also good enough to handle combat in dresses and ridiculous torture devices that some brothers who would know that sort of thing insist are shoes.

Senator Organa is more…complicated.

Rex knows he’s a good man, a brave one. Someone who’s not wouldn’t have been caught behind enemy lines on Christophses.

There’s still a part of him that doesn’t know what to do with knowledge about how _others_ might see the Senator.

Obi-Wan having a frank talk with him about how he and the Senator have a history was interesting. Rex hadn’t asked details, nor had he gotten any, but the way Obi-Wan blushed probably meant that at minimum, the sex had been good.

It wasn’t like Rex hadn’t had any prior experience, either.

Just…there’s a way that Obi-Wan avoids looking at Senator Organa, during the clandestine meetings of the Rebel Alliance leadership, that tells Rex it isn’t _just_ an old fling.

Not a surprise. It gets him into a hell of a lot of trouble, but Obi-Wan doesn’t tend to do things by halves. Now, the Senator has all sorts of political connections, and there’s a whole ton of planetary political maneuverings that Rex has yet to work his way through, but he knows a political marriage when he sees one. Between the fond look Senator Organa gets when the man talks about his wife, and the slightly sad expression every time he sees the twins, the math’s not difficult.

Marriage for power, or to smooth over the process of power. Children, for whatever reason, are unlikely.

That’s still not a good setup for a bit on the side that’s a very intense Jedi Master.

Rex has to wonder if Duchess Kryze’s request that Rex play bodyguard for Organa is because she’s still miffed about Rex and Obi-Wan, or if there’s a lingering snit fit over Senator Organa, or if it’s just because Rex is that good, and the assassins are starting to show up more often. He thinks the last option is the most likely, but the Duchess is Mandalorian to her core, now that she’s set aside the pacifism thing.

Given that, he’d have been surprised if she _hadn’t_ assigned him to Senator Organa.

* * *

No one ever gives Satine Kryze enough credit for being a persistent, downright vicious prodigy of Mandalore. Oh, Bail shares the polite smiles, the strained conversation wherein they all pretend the Empire isn’t stabilizing its chokehold across the galaxy. But sitting across from her as dinner concludes, Bail knows he’s done _something_ to draw her ire. The fact that she now carries a live blaster and Force only knows what else instead of that nasty little hold-out blaster of a droid popper is not reassuring.

Padmé is of absolutely no assistance, though given how close those two sit, and the feline little looks they share, not a surprise. He makes yet another mental note to check his balance of favors with Amidala, because he thinks she is in debt to him, but they’ve always walked the line as friends. Her siding with Satine due to deeper ties could make his life interesting.

It’s taken most of dinner to conclude that his bodyguard is involved as well. Captain Rex stands at ease against the wall, helmet at his side and hands on blasters, scanning everything with a thoroughness that would be chilling if Bail hadn’t known better. It’s mostly reassuring instead. For all that, he can’t quite figure why the clone’s eyes linger on him quite so long, unless he himself is considered some kind of a threat.

He wearily hopes he hasn’t screwed up the political dance with the Senate _that_ badly. He’d done everything he could to make sure neither he nor his ship were bugged before coming to visit, and he’s pretty certain he’s not compromised.

The answer comes as a surprise, when Obi-Wan and Satine’s nephew stalk into the room with all of their martial trappings. Kenobi is back to wearing some armor, and the more comfortable garb of a common spacer instead of Jedi tunics. It suits him, removes some of the stilted reserve Bail has always found to be fascinating and infuriating in turn.

Obi-Wan stands back to let Corkie give some high priority report Bail intentionally tunes out – what he doesn’t know can’t hurt the Rebellion. He spends the time much more gainfully employed studying Obi-Wan. Man’s lost weight, but looks to be regaining it. Haggard, but that’s no surprise given the casualties of the Order. When Obi-Wan looks over in his direction, Bail gives him the minute change in expression that Kenobi has never failed to miss. It’s all about the eyes, a hint of change along the brows, and something too subtle to be called a quirk around the lips.

Obi-Wan looks right over Bail’s head without seeming to notice, and several very interesting puzzle pieces click into place.

Kenobi’s expression is too subtle to be called smitten, but there are hints if one knows what to look for. Bail _knows_ what a smitten Obi-Wan Kenobi looks like.

The only being behind him is Captain Rex –

and _stars_ , but there’s a mental image he does not need at a dining table with hours yet to go before he can examine it closely.

Bail isn’t sure what Obi-Wan and the Force picked up from him, but there is little other reason for the Jedi to snap his eyes forward, expression smoothing into a polite, diplomatic mask.

Oh dear. He does hope he hasn’t embarrassed his old friend. Bail knows he had to give up any potential claim upon Kenobi long ago, for the good of his family, his planet, and thus in many ways the whole damned Republic. Breha is a wonderful woman, and made it very clear early in their marriage that so long as he was discreet, Bail was free to engage in activities as he pleased – though she did enjoy hearing about them.

Yet Obi-Wan Kenobi would never agree to that sort of arrangement, and Bail knew it. So he never asked, and instead decided to sever the temptation by remaining platonic friends. It helped that they were both so damned busy that it never really had an opportunity to be difficult.

The fact that _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ is consorting with the clone assigned as his second in command, the same soldier who had, in essence, been his third or fourth in command when the Republic existed and the universe made a little more sense – it blows Bail’s mind a little, and that’s even before he considers what the two might be getting up to.

 _Damn_ it all. Satine notices he is paying too much attention to something, and Bail is certain she’s sussed out exactly what has caught him. She gives him that wry little smile that means the trap was laid and sprung, and he is now the mouse between her paws.

The fact that she dismisses him from the room – legitimately, not that it makes anything better about the matter – does not help one whit.

Captain Rex ghosts along behind him, and Bail sighs a little inside when he sees the way the clone and Obi-Wan consciously avoid brushing shoulders. It’s somewhere between sad and adorable how he can see that they want to, craving the contact as recent…what?

It is pathetic how difficult it is for him to drag his imagination away from that speculation. Bail tries to compensate by calculating odds. Since Captain Rex is a near silent presence behind him, marked only by the faint impact of boots and the occasional brush of armored plates, he has far too much time to think.

Satine is bound to be a fiend one way or another, so Bail decides to toss caution to the winds. They’re all in this conspiracy together, and he doesn’t want any trouble looming at his back.

Fine. None of the clones can literally loom over him, but he has no doubt even the worst of them could make his life miserable and very, very short.

Captain Rex is nowhere near the worst soldier the GAR produced.

So at the entrance to his rooms he stops a little early, earning a slight eyebrow lift of curiosity as the Captain moves to check the door, then presumably the rooms.

Now or never, and Bail Organa is not the type to aim for ‘never.’

“Captain.” He halts Rex with a raised hand, and it is more intriguing than it should be how the clone settles himself, feet carefully planted and hands on his hips. “I believe we need to have a few words.”

There’s a fascinating little cant to the man’s head, and Bail finds himself the target of an intense stare. There is no expression on the clone’s face, aside from the tiniest lift of brows, and Bail keeps finding his eyes want to flick up to the distracting pale color of his hair. It takes a bit of will to keep eyes locked, and not flitting from scar to stress lines to all the intriguing little features of the man before him.

The silent waiting is also a bit intimidating, for all that Captain Rex is looking up at him.

“He told you.” Bail did not mean to be quite so blunt, but he is a touch relieved that the words escape him anyways.

Captain Rex remains quiet a beat longer than Bail would expect, then he inclines his head just a hair. “He did.” There’s a flicker of movement around the mouth, and that steady gaze never wavers. “No details, though.”

“He knows how to be discreet.”

 _Good_. There’s finally a visible flash of heat in the clone’s eyes, and damned if that doesn’t continue to intrigue Bail more than it should. The hint, that Bail would be willing to share details is dangling between them, more sexually charged than he expected. Then the Captain gives him an expression, widening his eyes in mock astonishment. “He’s a Jedi. They have to be.”

“I am glad that he found someone who can keep up with him.” It’s not meant to be innuendo, but he can’t quite help it. There’s an almost lazy blink, a hooding of those intense dark eyes and a touch of surprised smugness.

“Thank you, sir. It _is_ what we were born to do.”

Force help him. Obi-Wan might not kill him if he kisses this charming man in an attempt to breach that control, but Captain Rex most certainly would.

That damned hint of a smirk widens, as if the Captain knows the trail of thought Bail can’t help but follow. So Bail tries to dig himself out of the hole he seems to keep making deeper somehow instead. “ _Is_ he taking care of himself?”

His intent is not to make the Captain blink, or pull back a little. Professionalism smooths over that _look_ , and the moment is broken.

Bail gets a professional answer – not really, but they all try – before Captain Rex makes a very professional sweep of Bail’s rooms. A different clone is left for the night shift of guard duty, and Bail is not sure what to make of the way he wants to stare at a clone stalking away down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leechbrain did [some gorgeous art](http://leechbrain.tumblr.com/post/139322435849/ive-been-struggling-with-the-details-of-their) of Bail and Rex ~~flirting~~ talking! :D :D :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 02/16/2016. 
> 
> "Brought to you by [@leechbrain‘s](http://leechbrain.tumblr.com/) [gorgeous art [of Satine and Padmé].](http://leechbrain.tumblr.com/post/138818426994/very-quick-sketch-of-some-very-tired-girlfriends) XD"

“Did you see his face?” In the privacy of their own quarters, Satine no longer has to hide her smile.

Padmé just gives her a look. “Satine.”

“I have never seen that man turn that color before.” She spins in a smug little half-circle before sitting on one of the lounges, resting an elbow on the armrest. “I have to take what little joys I can find, dear heart.”

Padmé’s expression goes from a touch peevish to haughtily annoyed as only a professional politician could be. “I’m sorry,” she says, tone sweet with a hint of barb underneath. “Do you mean the way Rex looked like he wanted to eat Bail alive, how Bail looked very concerned about what you thought you saw, or the way Obi-Wan – ”

“THANK you, your point is made.” Satine sighs and lets herself slouch back. Padmé is moving slowly, making sure the twins were tucked away in their cribs. Satine has offered to help countless times, but Padmé always feels the need to do as much she can, on her own.

Satine doesn’t blame her. Force only knows they both have their moments of being control freaks.

Quaint phrasing. She will so have to thank her sister for that.

She shakes her head, for when even her internal sarcasm becomes too much she needs to vent. “You’ve been very protective of Obi-Wan of late.”

“Must you always needle him?”

“Must you always side with him?”

“Must you be quite so contrary?”

“Yes.”

Padmé stills for a moment, turning long enough to give Satine a curious look. There are times when they pretend to snipe each other, but that doesn’t tend to fall into blunt honesty very often. “Are you still angry about him and Rex?”

She sighs, several weights she tries to ignore settling back on her shoulders. “Padmé, I have never been angry with Obi-Wan about who he takes to his bed. Disappointed, perhaps, but probably not the way you expect.” At Padmé’s arch look, she has to glance away.

They are both politicians. Honesty is sometimes…difficult.

“Not with Obi, and most certainly not whoever else might be involved. In…a sense, perhaps, with myself. Sometimes. You’d think that after this many years I’d be over a man who doesn’t return the interest I have for him.”

Padmé looks away with a sigh, the last of her irritation disappearing. “Hearts are tricky things that don’t do what we want them to.”

Satine doesn’t say a word as she pulls Padmé onto the couch next to her, curling around the younger woman. Anakin Skywalker is a strange ghost to be stalking the halls of Mandalore, yet his presence – his absence – is so often felt. Most assume he’s dead. Some think he’s off in the galaxy doing the same work Master Yoda is, and recruiting aid. Some think he’s yet another POW they will need to save.

Satine has seen the holofeeds of that horrifying life support suit. She never says anything, but she is in the latter camp.

It is nonetheless horrible to see Padmé struggling along, wounded in spirit. It bleeds out in Padmé’s sparring sessions – be it Bo Katan trying to pull out of another draw of the two almost beating each other into the ground, re-training Satine on how to do more than just defend, or those mad free-for-alls with the women Ahsoka fetched from Naboo. Padmé’s former body doubles are terrifying, and all have received multiple invitations to be adopted into various clans.

Like the clones, Satine and Bo Katan got there first. Clan Kryze was also blatant about what the invitation would mean, and it was not shy about pointing out potential benefits of joining other clans. Kryze is starting small, Satine is making a powerplay on dramatically new policies, and the tension between Satine and Bo Katan is still somewhat of an issue.

As with so much of Padmé’s advice, the frankness has helped solidify Satine’s rule in a way she has never dared imagine. Padmé is ruthless in ways Satine never thought she could or would be. She knew of Padmé’s…unorthodox history when they were both senators, but she keeps finding depths that she does not expect. Very little of the fair-handed Senator laboring for peace hints at the fierce warrior underneath.

They are strange opposites, the two of them. Palpatine and his _Empire_ have brought out much more than he intended.

“Will you be jealous?” Padmé asks, voice soft and wounded. “If we can rescue Anakin?”

“ _When_ we rescue him, jealous of your husband or not, I shall gracefully get the hells out of your way to do what you will. And should Vader prove difficult, I shall happily provide all the muscle and weaponry you could ask for to drag him out of the Dark.” They share thin grins, and Satine forces herself to remain steady, calm and composed. “Dear heart, if I must be odd Auntie Satine who gets your children the most terrifying Lifeday gifts, then so be it. I am hardly a stranger to knowing someone else holds a foremost place in the heart of those I care for.”

Padmé smiles back, warm but wan, then wraps herself around Satine. “‘First’ means earliest, not foremost. Do stop confusing the two.” She smirks before brushing her lips against Satine’s cheek. “For the moment, the twins are foremost anyway.”

“That is true.” Damned to many hells if she’d resent that. Satine cuddles close, trying to smile around her exhaustion. “But let’s not avoid the point. You are married to him. I will never not appreciate what is between us now, but you have children, and a husband – ”

Padmé silences her with a kiss, gentle but long and determined. When she finally pulls back, she gives Satine another arch look. “And a supportive loving friend who really ought to remember that both Naboo and Mandalore allow multiple spouse marriages. And that I have long experience in juggling requirements from multiple fronts. And that _I_ know how to share.”

By this point Satine can’t keep from giggling. “I am wonderful at sharing. Haven’t you noticed me sharing responsibilities with Bo Katan?”

“You let her beat things up and she lets you deal with red tape.”

“Delegation. I’ve excellent skills on this front.”

Padmé’s kiss this time is much more fierce. “Satine.”

“You certainly scold like a mother.” Despite her teasing tone, Satine is cuddling closer. Her voice drops to a whisper, a secret between them because she will probably never stop being a politician enough to be thoroughly open with all. “Yes, dear heart. I might be a touch jealous, but that’s what I tend to do. I shall tease Anakin to the extent of his patience and yours, I shall apologize in whatever manner he and you find acceptable, and I dearly want to be a part of your life. Yes, I can share.”

The relief on Padmé’s face is almost as fierce as her tone, and matches how fiercely she wrestled to get that answer from Satine. Satine feels a bit ashamed of that, but it is difficult to be Manda’lor when not even a year ago peace was all she wanted. Now she wants war, an _emperor’s_ head on a stick, the salvation of a man she knows only in passing and might be beyond saving. She wants the woman beside her, the care of the children sleeping across the room, and yes, eventually, through that long and bloody road, peace.

She used to call Bo Katan selfish, and blind. It seems that is a family trait. Satine curls up with Padmé, the two watching Luke and Leia. For the moment, she has Padmé, who seems to want both to stay and for this to continue in the long run. For the moment, that is more than enough.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 05/10/2016.
> 
> "Serious angst, followed by non-explicit smut. Brought to you by Bail Organa’s [travel gear [middle left gif]](https://norcumii.tumblr.com/post/181727087977/solo-by-choice-buffskeleton-star-wars), and more of Leechbrain’s inspirational art.
> 
>  **trigger/content warnings:** suicidal clones, Jedi genocide, two consenting adult men gettin’ it on"

Ryloth continues to be a challenge. Ahsoka slumps against the wall of the little shuttle she and Asajj have claimed, letting the feel of relieved refugees seep into her senses. Another refugee camp bombed, another set of traumatized survivors, another set of Imperial prisoners to winnow through.

It has been a long week to get here, and it will be longer for the cleanup.

Asajj’s Force presence wisps across her senses a moment before entering the shuttle. “We have a complication.”

* * *

Obi-Wan stares at the limp form in the bacta tank, and he has no idea what expression his face shows. Rex is a blessing from the Force; a solid presence behind Obi-Wan with a reassuring hand on the Jedi’s back.

Kix and AZ wait nearby. They’ve been designated resident experts when it comes to clones, matters involving the chips, and patients that are deemed too scary for even Mando’ade and bounty hunters.

“What’s the prognosis?” Obi-Wan asks, when he can finally speak.

“If he makes it the next two rotations, then we’re in the clear. We’ll still keep him drugged for a bit longer, though, because I don’t trust we cleared out all the toxins in his system.”

“Those were very poor choices in cocktails,” AZ observes disapprovingly before zooming off to check readouts for vitals. The little bot tries, and his understanding is growing by the day, but –

There are still some significant gaps in his grasp of biological interactions.

Obi-Wan steps forward, hand going up to the transparasteel of the tank. The man inside is drugged to the point where his mind is just a murmur of distant thoughts and hints of emotion. For all that, it’s quite a well of grief, undirected rage, and self-loathing.

Obi-Wan didn’t mean to speak, but in the face of that emotion, he cannot stop himself. It’s a soft, fierce whisper – plea rather than command.

“Live, Commander. If I can escape Utapau, then so can you.”

* * *

Cody is rather disappointed that he wakes up. He’d finally had enough with the silence screaming around in his head for the last couple of weeks – not that the traitorstraitorsGOODSOLDIERSFOLLOWORDERS had been any better, but at least then….

Then he hadn’t been able to think. To _see_.

They were occupying fucking _Ryloth_.

Fucking war. All that time, all that effort and blood and for what? To have Cham Syndulla and his people carving up the Imperials’ shebs, and to add an even more brutal, poisonous bite at least half of the Twi’leks wore pieces of salvaged 212 armor.

Honor.

Not mockery.

Though it was, in the end. Cody had managed that thought, at least, thorough the damned noise in his mind. Here he was, along with a handful of his men, stuck in dead white _Imperial_ armor and they had to beat down the very people they’d help rise up from under the clankers. Those people still wore 212 colors in memory of those _heroes_.

So he’d gotten drunk.

Again.

Then he’d added in anything interesting but not immediately fatal that he could find from a quick trip to the Medical area, because if he was going down, he wasn’t taking any chances that the fucking Imps would get their hands on him.

Cody _knew_ what they did to victims, traitors.

So really, disappointment at waking up is pretty tame.

He probably deserves whatever it is he gets, though, so he decides to just take it in the teeth. Cody pushes himself upright with a groan, surprised to find that he’s not strapped down to…whatever it is he’s lying on.

Weird. He blinks a few times to focus on what looks like a medical room with only the one bed – an actual bed.

This…makes no sense.

A few more blinks, and he realizes there’s a figure waiting by the door, standing still enough that his eyes had just skipped over them. The blue and gray Mandalorian armor makes his heart stutter – first because his early years meant that beskar’gam translated into potential safety, second because Imperial reports have been full of Mando’ade rebellion.

Then the man reaches for his bucket, and Cody’s gut clenches. He knows the move, he was flash-trained for it too.

Something in the back of his brain notes the little details that brothers add to make the regimented actions their own, and he _knows_. His vision tunnels even before he sees blond hair, and by the time he does, he’s managing a halfway respectable lunge at that _bastard_ , who’s still wearing those fucking colors even if it’s not quite 501st blue.

“ _Fucking butcher!_ ” is tearing from his throat, an outraged scream that he wouldn’t normally allow himself. His damn bacta dip must have only just been over, because he doesn’t quite make it to 7567, though the dar’manda makes Cody’s life easier by just standing there, looking fucking astonished. Much as Cody wants to wipe that man’s face out of the galaxy, his first punch is coordinated enough to get 7567 between the beskar’gam plates – a sharp blow at the right angle to break some ribs and knock the fucker off his feet. Cody follows him to the floor, aiming to break the arms next. Mysteries don’t matter now.

The 501st razed the Jedi temple.

Cody had been to Imperial Center (Coruscant belongs to a better time; the place Cody saw was entirely under the Emperor’s thumb). He’d seen the bodies in 501 blue, mixed with the TRAITORSJedi. Even then, even with that fucking _chip_ screaming in his mind, he’d blanched at the small bodies of TRAITORJedi shinies. Bodies too wounded to hold a lightsaber even before a deathshot. Ancients who had to have seen fucking decades of life and were too old to defend themselves.

Children. Wounded. Elderly. If they shot first, defensive fire was the logical choice.

Disabling shots. All he saw, over and over again, were kill shots.

Cody might have killed his General, but 7567 used to lead Vader’s Fist, and its first act had been to slaughter _younglings_. Cody’s been paying for his actions from the moment the General fell, but _nothing_ would ever excuse what happened in Coruscant’s last days.

7567 has too many advantages, armor and health against Cody’s fury and the failed attempt to break himself. Cody at least refuses to be pinned, continuing to get in blows no matter how fucking futile it is.

He can hear feet pounding down the hall almost immediately – they have to be under surveillance. His entire world has narrowed down to trying to right this one fucking wrong, and then it doesn’t matter what kind of backup arrives.

Then his world shatters again.

“Cody! Stop!”

He’s heard the voice countless times in his memory, faced down the ghosts in his mind and tried to apologize he doesn’t know how often over the last few weeks when the screaming chip hasn’t been working in his head.

He knows the difference.

This is _real_?

7567 rolls away as Cody falters, sagging back on his haunches to stare at the two figures in the open doorway. 6116 is behind –

That’s not Jedi garb –

All Cody can do is stare, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “But I killed you?”

* * *

Rex finds his feet as Obi-Wan gives Cody a gentle smile, self-depreciating and wry even as he spreads his arms wide enough to show no weapons. “I’m sorry, Commander, but you missed.”

 _Fuck_ but Rex’s ribs hurt, and his heart isn’t in too much better shape. Cody has always been his closest brother, one gen up and watching out for him – the two of them watching out for each other, really.

The chip is _gone_ , all that’s left is the scar mark sliding into Cody’s hair, which means Obi-Wan should be safe. Rex reminds himself that’s the important thing, but he really, really wants to know what the hell.

Cody shakes his head, still with that dazed, haunted look. He’s probably not even aware of the motion. “Then what are _they_ doing here?”

Kix’s eyes narrow at the venom Cody manages even through the shock, but he keeps his arms just as wide as Obi-Wan does – makes it easier to throw knives, too, and Rex knows Kix keeps a stash of them. Cody almost ignores the medic moving slow and wide around the room to Rex, and Obi-Wan waits until Kix makes it over. “What do you mean?”

Somehow Cody’s expression twists into something even worse, even more broken and furious. “The _Temple_. Vader’s Fist. What are they _doing_ here?”

Kix lets out a shocked little hiss as Rex straightens, ignoring his ribs because fuck if his heart doesn’t hurt so very much more.

A mental touch from Obi-Wan keeps Rex silent, and the Jedi carefully kneels down next to Cody. “Torrent wasn’t there.” Cody keeps giving him that horrible blank look as Obi-Wan rests a hand on his shoulder. “I would know, Cody. They weren’t there.”

Rex can see the slow crumple of his brother’s face, and he knows the feeling – that last little shard of hope lancing into all the pain and horror so it all spills out. He’s seen it time and again, and it _hurts_ , seeing it happen to Cody.

“I don’t…think they even let _pets_ out alive.” With that little murmur, Cody collapses against Obi-Wan, clinging to his shirt and just _weeping_.

Rex and Kix slump together, not even able to exchange horrified looks as Obi-Wan curls around Cody. Rex has no idea what could possibly compel his brothers to engage in that kind of mindless slaughter. The chips are effective, but not mind-warping like that.

Though whatever the reason, it _would_ explain why no 501st outside of Torrent have been reported with broken chips and uneaten blasters.

* * *

Bail is a little early to the shuttle bay, already reviewing the news from Satine and what data he needs to disperse to the Rebellion. He’s a little surprised to see that Captain Rex is near Bail’s shuttle, holding a solemn conversation with Drum. Bail’s normal bodyguard looks sympathetic, commiserating with Captain Rex over something, and he has to wonder what might have happened to either Drum or Captain Rex.

Drum reaches out and gives Captain Rex’s shoulder guard a gentle shake, and the Captain returns it with a smile that is only about half melancholy. Much to Bail’s surprise, Drum gives Captain Rex another companionable pat on the shoulder before hustling away, while Captain Rex hefts a small duffle and walks over to Bail.

“Senator.”

This is a rather strange state of affairs. “What’s going on?”

Captain Rex has that infinitesimal smile that Bail admires for its subtlety, and drives him to distraction because really, if that tiny a change in expression can do such very interesting things to Bail, then what could he get if he could push or coax that man?

There is however a weary grief in the Captain’s eyes that Bail doesn’t like. Captain Rex hides both smile and shadow behind his usual professionalism within moments. “I’m your guard for the next few weeks.”

Bail blinks, taken aback enough that words slip out in spite of himself. “Is everything all right?” He at least manages to keep the followup wince internal. He sounded concerned – which is true – rather than opportunistic. It was probably clear that he was speaking as a man worried about the state of a friend, not some bastard who saw an opportunity to insert himself into a spot emptied – no matter how temporarily – by a lovers’ spat.

From the level way Captain Rex evaluates him, it was indeed clear. He is however quite solemn as he sighs. “Commander Cody was brought in a few rotations ago. It took awhile to stabilize his physical health, but his mental health….” He trails off with a grimace. “He trusts Obi-Wan, who _can_ help, but it’s looking like a rough road for him. He’s also spent the entire time since 66 thinking Torrent was at the Temple. Even with Obi-Wan confirming I wasn’t there, my presence isn’t going to help matters right now.”

Ah. It’s a bit of an unexpected plummet to Bail’s stomach. He feels like he shouldn’t be surprised, and he has no business feeling a bit disappointed with matters – and yet. “I hadn’t realized they were close.”

Captain Rex gives a quirk of the brow, then shakes his head. “Friends, Senator. Cody isn’t attracted to people that way and never was. They’re friends, brothers. Not lovers.”

Bail stares a bit too long, though Captain Rex doesn’t seem to notice. That was remarkably blunt, and not at all what he is used to. Very rarely are such matters approached so openly in the civilized sectors of space.

Something about the Captain does bring out a strange recklessness to him – or perhaps more accurately a bluntness. Bail decides to poke just a little, exchanging frankness in return. “And Obi-Wan has no opinions on your assignment as my bodyguard?”

He finally has the Captain’s full attention, and the searching look stuns him as always. It is a horrible blind spot: for all that he knows the clones were made to be clever, to be adaptable, tacticians as well as warriors, he still too often thinks of them as simple straightforward soldiers. Grunts.

It probably does not speak well of him that every time Captain Rex looks at him like that, Bail has more and more consistently had a heated reaction to the depths in those eyes.

There’s the tiniest curl to the Captain’s lips. “Obi-Wan and I know where we three stand.” As Bail is trying to unravel the hints and implications there, Captain Rex turns and starts walking to the shuttle.

Bail can’t stop an amused eye roll as he follows Captain Rex. He’s taller than the clone, and can keep up without looking like he was caught as flatfooted as he was. “And where is that?”

He has always been excellent at reading body language, and he’s had practice with the clones. Bail catches just the slightest hesitation in Captain Rex’s next step, and the man doesn’t look back as he answers – cool and professional as always. “He and I aren’t clingy, or insecure enough to think that loving one being very, very much means they’re the only one you’re allowed to feel affection for.” Bail has a good angle to see a small, wry grin. “Admittedly it took him awhile to get past the Jedi Attachment thing.” Captain Rex’s voice drops back to professional, not quite brusque. “Excuse me, Senator, but I have to secure the ship. Please wait here.”

* * *

Barely a rotation into the trip, and Bail is utterly at a loss. Captain Rex has been quite the competent bodyguard, prowling about the shuttle and checking in the oddest corners, all with a coolness that is just the proper social distance that Bail would expect. After the Captain is satisfied that there are no assassins, droid or otherwise, lurking in the closets or ‘fresher, the man relaxes a hair and is willing to chat, if Bail starts a conversation.

They don’t really seem to have much to talk about.

Typically Bail spends these trips going over his datapads, getting ahead on his information juggling while Drum does something esoteric and artistic to a datapad’s drawing or music program. He sees Captain Rex eyeing the djarik table and idly offers to go a round, only to be thrashed beyond words in a way he hasn’t since he was a youngling.

His own fault, for not really trying, but the disappointed _look_ the Captain gives him means Bail immediately tries to recoup his tattered dignity. He’s fairly certain there’s an expression of fierce satisfaction on Captain Rex’s face when the next round is a draw.

It is an infuriating blind spot, and Bail hopes the multiple games often ending in a draw will cement the lesson.

* * *

Bail lasts little more than a rotation before the Captain’s words irk too much to let stand. They haven’t kept Bail sleepless, but they crop up at unexpected times.

Well. Perhaps Bail might admit to losing a little bit of sleep indulging in some fantasies he has played with for a while, but any being with an aesthetic appreciation for the human male would gladly lose some time to considering Captain Rex and Obi-Wan.

He waits until after a meal, and as the Captain passes by Bail’s cabin he speaks up. “I call bullshit, Captain.”

Captain Rex halts, giving him a quizzical look. “Excuse me?”

Bail leaves his cabin, the door hissing shut behind him. Captain Rex turns to face him more directly, and Bail has to work to sit on a rather inappropriate surge of arousal. “I know for a fact that Obi-Wan Kenobi is incredibly clingy, particularly on cold mornings.”

A faint blush blossoms on the Captain’s face. “…ah.”

It is delightful to not be the one stuck several paces behind for once. Even better is cracking a bit of that stoicism the Captain always seems to have. Bail takes a step closer, making sure he’s not actually intruding on the man’s personal space. “Did you perhaps mean clingy in a different sense?”

The look Bail gets is evaluating with just a hint of heat behind it. There’s that almost not a smile again. “…Senator. My job right now is your protection detail. While we’re in hyperspace, we’re probably fine – any attacks would have been made by now. So I need to ask. Do you need any protection right now?”

Bail can’t stop a grin. “Captain Rex, I’ll have you know I always keep up on my shots.”

The Captain blinks a few times before finally refocusing on Bail, expression more than a little wary. “Kriffing hells, you pun too?”

“I’ve been told we’re unbearable in the mornings, once he’s had tea.”

Captain Rex does a slow head tilt at Bail’s continued grin. “I think I’d like to see that.”

He takes a step to the side, not quite circling Captain Rex, yet still making sure not to move too close. “Would you now?” Stars, he didn’t meant to make that so much of a purr, though the Captain seems to appreciate it.

Captain.

Bail hesitates, sensing a potential hurdle. “I should ask, though – when you are…off duty, how should I be addressing you?”

The Captain gives him a matching speculative look, which hits Bail’s libido much harder than he would ever have suspected. “I think I’m curious how you’d name me.” It’s a clear challenge in the husky rumble that takes Bail from interested to genuinely aroused, and the challenge is an intriguing counterpoint. He suspects that it’s not a make-or-break moment, but there is significance to the gesture. The Captain is testing his mettle, and given how much of their interactions have been all business or secondhand, there is legitimate merit.

Bail has made far more difficult decisions in much more aroused states – up to and including a rather madcap youthful indiscretion involving official trade negotiations and a certain Jedi underneath Bail’s desk making life…difficult.

Pleasant, but difficult.

He turns the possibilities around for a bit, giving them time for the weight to settle, then he meets the Captain’s eyes again. “While I’m sure you and Obi-Wan could have all sorts of interesting exchanges based upon titles, I’m not military. That would be…awkward. Therefore does ‘Rex’ meet your approval?”

It’s the first clear, genuine smile he’s seen from the man, and it makes those eyes light up. “Yes. Am I off duty, Senator?”

“Quite.”

The smile goes back to the smirk he’s more familiar with, as Rex’s posture loosens a little. Instead of him leaping into…whatever it is he’d leap into, Rex again baffles Bail’s expectations with an arch look. “What exactly are you interested in, Bail? Longer term, and right now?”

Gods, when that man drops his voice a little the growl goes right to Bail’s cock. It takes him a moment to register anything more than his name in that tone. “I’m not looking for a consort or source of political kerfluffle, but longer term companionship and or friendship would be most welcome. Right now?” Bail snorts, that bluntness Rex inadvertently encourages cresting again. “Fucking each other senseless sounds rather appealing.”

Rex has a silent little laugh that is surprisingly charming. “That long term sounds good. Right now – have to say I’m not a fan of letting matters get that potentially out of hand, but to the point of exhaustion definitely has my interest.”

He’d expect a soldier to be aggressive, charging into matters as if it were combat or contest. Instead Rex moves forward slowly, backing Bail up against the wall by simple virtue of moving like a predator. Sweet Force, he did not expect any of this. From that growl to this stalk, Bail is reminded again and again that this is a clever, competent, deadly man.

Perhaps he has more than the one blind spot. Not to mention a type.

Rex reaches out, slow and deliberate, to trail several fingers against a seam of Bail’s black synth-leather top. “Has anyone told you that this makes you look like sex waiting for a place to happen?”

He doesn’t even try to resist the smirk. “Once.”

Rex’s eyes flicker up to meet his for a moment, before understanding sparks. He snickers even as he leans in closer. “Did Obi-Wan enjoy getting you out of it?”

Bail leans in to meet him. “What makes you think he bothered instead of enjoying me wearing most of it?”

The kiss is searing, finally something as aggressive as he had expected. They curl around each other, Rex the stable pillar keeping Bail in place. Bail has one hand cupped at Rex’s neck, savoring the brush of soft bristle against his fingers.

They end up back in Bail’s cabin, trading kisses and fumbling each other’s clothes. Somewhere in the middle of Bail giving up on Rex’s arm guards and Rex giving up on Bail’s overtunic, it occurs to him that the clone might have very little experience with the clothes a civilian might wear. He certainly has no idea how to finagle more than a fraction of Rex’s armor off. It is…sobering, but also extra incentive to get naked as quickly as possible.

Not that he needs more, to be honest.

For all that, Rex is naked first by a wide margin, which is woefully unfair given how much more he had to remove, but it’s probably military efficiency or something. Or perhaps that Bail does enjoy watching; sweet _Force_ the muscle on that man–!

Rex has either been taking mind-reading lessons from Obi-Wan, or he enjoys yanking Bail’s chain. He sprawls back on the bed, flaunting all of that lovely muscle and giving Bail time to register the extensive scars as well.

It’s not at all a surprise that the moment Bail gets the last of his clothing off, he’s kissing Rex again, letting himself be guided down onto the bed. He ends up atop the man, between his legs and face to face with that feline, barely existent grin while Rex’s fingers thread through Bail’s hair.

It’s that grin that does it. “So, Rex – does Obi-Wan manage to crack your composure often?” Bail’s not quite sure how he makes it sound casual, but it works. Somehow. Especially given the wide smirk he gets in return.  

“He doesn’t really try.”

“Well. I think I should see if I can remedy that lack.”

* * *

It took more time and self restraint than Bail expected, but it seems he can. Even if he does end up more exhausted than Rex, it is most definitely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leechbrain did some art of Rex and Bail (in his travel gear! :D)! [Check it out!](http://leechbrain.tumblr.com/post/144257004229/so-i-think-u-can-safely-say-i-loved-the-latest)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 02/24/2018.

Mandalore is becoming a problem.

Yet the math does not add up. That bothers Darth Vader.

It is technically the night cycle, but Star Destroyers have to be functional round the clock, and Vader knows pain more than sleep these days.

It is difficult to remember when that had not been so.

The past year has been spent not on Imperial Center, but roaming around the Core snuffing out trouble spots and hunting the occasional Jedi. Vader had gotten sufficient training from his master in the first few months of the Empire before that, and he now cannot recall the last time he or his men have not been on duty.

That is fine. It is not as if he has anything other than that, and pain.

Vader sits before a terminal and broods. They have run afoul of any number of insurgents wearing the mythosaur skull symbol, and far too many of them were wearing beskar’gam, or surprisingly good imitations. The vast majority of organized resistance to the Empire in the last months have all identified with Mandalore in some form.

Yet the Emperor keeps Vader to the Core worlds. He is Sidious’ apprentice, trainer to the Sith Inquisitors, a Sith himself.

( _Murderer_ , a tiny voice tries to yell deep from the voids of his mind. _Fallen. Failure. Betrayer._ )

Why would his master keep him from where his presence is needed? He is a weapon, and it is becoming clear that Mandalore needs to be defeated.

Even worse, why is it that every intelligence report he gets is absolutely silent about Mandalore? It is as if the sector does not even exist. He’s gotten more reports about quixotic weapons projects and the minutia of supplies for the 501st than Mandalore.

Something is wrong. He can feel it in the Force, like the ache in his bones (echoing in the charred, empty place where his heart once was).

* * *

Two more months pass, and Vader is getting tired of his supply chains being broken by pirates. He assigns several squads to discreetly track those pirates back to their lair if possible.

He both is, and isn’t surprised to find that the majority go to Ryloth. He makes a token effort to take out the other significant cluster, but since it’s Hondo Ohnaka’s crew, he doesn’t expect any success.

Vader also didn’t anticipate useless intel from Ryloth. He knows that the planet has been in active revolt since the first whispers of protest flared to life. Last he knew, the last half year has seen the Empire struggling to hold the entire system.

Details should _not_ be scant.

He finally stalks down to the area where Intelligence has set up camp. He has a conversation with the ranking agent, and he nearly chokes the fool before her bold – stupid, but bold – second-in-command points out that it _has_ been upon the Emperor’s orders.

Vader makes it clear that he wants _everything_ about Ryloth at his terminal by the time he reaches it, then storms off.

The Emperor does not want Vader to be ‘distracted’ by Mandalore. Supposedly the Emperor has clandestine agents taking matters apart from the inside – but he has still left Vader blind. That rankles, rouses the old specters of how distrust from his superiors (owners) has always hounded him.

Bitterness still tastes the same.

Perhaps it is still that bitterness that flavors his review of the Ryloth material. (Perhaps it is that thread-thin voice that never stops its mewling protests.) There are strange gaps in the intel. According to this, all of Ryloth’s activities stem from Cham Syndulla – a pretty fiction, but the man can’t be everywhere. There’s no way he could actually be in all the places he’s reported to be. So either the other leaders are clever and sneaky, or his intelligence is being hacked.

Neither option pleases him.

He kills the local Intelligence agent before taking his TIE fighter the last leg to Ryloth. He remembers (fighting for freedom, working to unify a divided people, to prevent mindless slaughter) Syndulla’s tactics, and he needs no escort.

The first nest offers nothing but minions for the slaughter.

The second one, he enters and it is only a whisper of premonition in the Force that has him leaning back from a lightsaber swipe. To his surprise, it is a red lightsaber. Vader retreats, trying to reassess as his opponent – in beskar’gam, of _course_ there’s a Mandalorian connection – hammers away at him.

His opponent’s fury weakens their mental shields, and Vader snarls as he clenches his free hand. Ventress squalls as one of her lightsabers explodes in her hand, and he wrenches the other one away from her. “I should have known you would not be wise enough to crawl back under a rock and remain there,” Vader growls. She glares hatred at him, then Vader lashes out with Ventress’ own lightsaber.

It crashes into another one, this one glowing white. Vader’s head jerks up, and it is another beskar clad woman glaring at him.

This one wears no helmet, but that only makes it worse.

“Master,” Tano declares, one brow arched and something like sarcasm lacing ever bit of the word.

(Obi-Wan had been her teacher too.) She had learned to spit venom just like any other traitor.

“I thought you were dead,” Vader manages, and Tano gives him a tight, humorless smile. They move at the same time, blades flicking against each other from block to block.

“I’m no Jedi,” she reminds him, throwing that old failure at him like another weapon (because it is).

“Slumming with Ventress is not what I expected, either.”

“Some people can admit they were wrong, and despite some grotesque mistakes they can learn and make better lives for themselves.”

(Lies. Some violations can never be forgiven. ( _Padmé,_ screams that quiet inner voice.))

“Then perhaps you could learn the error of your ways. My master–”

Tano’s bladework goes from something like a kata to an actual attack, searing his armor. “Will never be mine,” she growls. “Besides.” She hammers at him some more, and Vader does not know why he blocks but does not seriously attack. “I thought you once said you’d keep me from harm.”

He has no words, nothing but that inner voice screaming without coherent thought. He is not expecting the sudden, brutal Force shove from the side, plowing him through several walls.

By the time he can extract himself, Ventress and Ahsoka are gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 02/26/2018.

It is all spite, of course. Darth Vader might be an evil lord of the Sith, but spite is a familiar emotion, and it’s close cousin to anger and hate.

Just…petty.

He wasn’t getting sufficient intel? Fine. He might just not mention who he found on Ryloth. After all, there was no _solid_ proof that it was Ventress there. And since Ahsoka just up and disappeared, she might as well have not been there. And there was nothing solid to tie them to the ongoing rebellion anyways.

(She had looked so grown up. Poised and composed and gods he thought he’d known pain before. This went deeper.)

Insufficient intel to share. What a shame.

* * *

Ahsoka manages to maintain her poise during the entire frantic retreat to their shuttle. All the way into hyperspace. Even thorough settling Asajj and getting sufficient bacta on her hand.

 _Then_ , she breaks down and cries.

Vader’s identity is an open secret among the command staff, after Bo-Katan suggested assassinating the Empire’s most iconic weapon. But it’s one thing to know, it’s another to face him down.

That hadn’t been Anakin.

She’d still been able to feel the faint traces of a training bond with him. With _Darth Vader_.

She’d been able to feel something in his mind, underneath the Darkness and fury, that she can only describe as ‘screaming.’ The last time she felt anything remotely like that, it had been in a prison camp during the war.

It’s a relief when Asajj comes over and does that thing, the awkward sidle up to her before putting an arm around her waist, and leaning into Ahsoka.

“We need to go to ground,” Asajj finally says. “Somewhere that isn’t Mandalore. Give them plausible deniability and maybe pull Vader off the scent.”

Ahsoka nods, grateful that her friend can somehow infuse random words with new meaning.

She can hear ‘home’ in ‘Mandalore.’

* * *

It has been a year and six months since the Emperor destroyed (all that might be bright in the universe) the Republic. Vader is ostensibly investigating rumors of sedition through the Core, still simmering over the information blackout about Mandalore. He has gone through two more Intel officers, and several luckless flunkies that were sent to try to dissuade him. The Emperor’s orders are clear: Vader is not to be distracted by events on Mandalore.

Too many intelligence agents know that when their choice is death by Vader’s hands, or the Emperor’s, they will pick Vader.

He decides to launch a surprise inspection on one of the Senate’s more vocal pests. Organa is at Alderaan’s capital, holding some kind of court in a government building that (reminds him far too much of Naboo) is more art than architecture.

(Beautiful in the way it merges with the mountains) Pointlessly defenseless, though.

Vader strides into a grand meeting hall, and silence scatters before him. Organa stands from a surprisingly plain chair (he has become far too familiar with thrones of late), mumbling some kind of surprised greeting.

Perhaps he is not mumbling, but Vader isn’t listening. Organa has a bodyguard, which is several kinds of surprise. There’s a shortish man behind Organa’s not-really-a-throne; well-armed, standing at attention, and wearing beskar’gam.

“You’re keeping strange company, Senator.”

Not his imagination: Organa pales a little. Then to everyone’s surprise, the bodyguard speaks.

“It’s a dangerous galaxy, my lord.” It is probably a man’s voice, distorted by vocorder and sounding almost as inhuman as Vader’s. “Mando’ade need to make a living, regardless of what we think of the Duchess’ declarations.”

It galls him, that he does not know what they are.

It amuses him, that since he cannot get involved with Mandalorian affairs, this is liable to be an incident he will also not have to report.

It is far, far easier to be angry than amused. He strides forward, deliberate and slow. It is intriguing to see the man struggle to keep still, not raising a weapon on such an obvious threat. Organa sidles away so as not to be between them, and most interestingly he looks like he might have a concealed weapon he is considering drawing. He must be fond of his toy – for that is all a random Mandalorian bodyguard could be against Vader.

Vader stops when he is looming over the man, and for a long moment they glare at each other’s (buckets) helmets. Vader only speaks when something stirs in the Force, something not quite familiar but strange, _uncanny_ in a way he doesn’t like (it reminds him too much of when things were (good) (better) different). “And what do you think of the Duchess’ declarations?”

He can almost hear the nervous swallow. (He’s become very good at knowing when that happens.) “Manda’lor isn’t some hereditary position. Haven’t seen her fighting, so I don’t know if she can actually declare herself that without beating the last one.”

What. The Duchess Kryze is the most ridiculous pacifist he ever met. Declaring herself warlord of the Mandalorians? Preposterous! He tries to shake that off, because he can sense there is more.

Annoying, how good the man’s mental shields are. He might as well be a sentient block of wood, for all that Vader can read him.

“And?” he prompts. “What do you think of her other statements?”

Ah, there is the nervous swallow. “I. I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“Tell me what you think of the traitor, bounty hunter. I will know if you lie to me.”

The Mandalorian stares at him, then breaks. “I serve at Prince Organa’s pleasure, Lord Vader. That is all.”

It is the small burst of emotion from the Senator that grabs Vader’s attention. Through the generic fear there is a pulse of something that sets Vader’s teeth on edge.

(It burns, like lava eating away at bone, even as a part of him wants to throw himself back into that heat (never again, not having killed Her) and be devoured by it.)

He really did not need or want to know that Senator Organa is fucking his bodyguard.

Vader turns away from the Mandalorian as if he’s forgotten the man exists, settling into the more rote threatening of a useless politician (SHE would have been ashamed to see what her peers had become). He is annoyed (and discomforted) enough that it is not until he is back at his shuttle that something settles into his awareness. He is demanding an immediate take-off vector from traffic control even as his hackles rise, something in the Force unsettled and… _off_.

Not a bad feeling. Just. A whisper of something familiar where it should not be. Damned(, forever with no (hope) redemption.) if he can pinpoint what it is, though.

None of it is worth mentioning beyond a minor note in his official report that Senator Organa is having some kind of affair with a bounty hunter bodyguard, and that might be useful leverage.

(It is only during writing that report that he realizes the bodyguard did not answer his question, and he still has no useful knowledge of whatever is happening on Mandalore.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all of the previously posted stuff, and hopefully more will come sooner rather than later. ^_^


End file.
